


Long Weekend

by supersoakerx



Series: Slumber Party!AU [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bickering, Daddy Dom!Kylo, Daddy Dom/Little Girl, Explicit Sexual Content, I say again, Multi, Slumber Party!AU, Smooching, Tea, Vaginal Sex, dd/lg, domestic stuff, possessive!Kylo, service sub!Randy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: This is your first weekend at the Solo house after the ‘arrangement’ is made between the five of you.
Relationships: Ben Solo/Reader, Kylo Ren/Reader, Matt the Radar Technician/Reader, Randy the Intern/Reader
Series: Slumber Party!AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034451
Comments: 56
Kudos: 85





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : bickering, and some DD/lg stuff with Kylo, smooches but no smut-smut  
>  **XXXX**  
>  I literally wrote down their names and plucked them out of a tea cup on my dining table. The order you see them is the order I drew them. I can’t believe how it happened.

All day long the WhatsApp group chat had been blowing up.

Randy messaged, ‘Can’t wait to see you tonight duchess’ with a purple loveheart and a star.

Matt had said, ‘Bring your a-game, little pet’ then, ‘Pineapple on pizza?’ and, ‘Allergies?’ all in the space of about 2 seconds.

Ben texted, ‘getting ready for you babygirl’ followed by a new message with two flexing arm emojis, then a third message saying, ‘skip class today?’ with numerous wink and heart eyes emojis.

Kylo wrote, ‘Enjoy your day, little one. See you tonight. I’ll be home by 6.’

You’d sat in your classes—Thursdays were full uni days for you, with lectures and tutorials almost back to back from 9.00am to 4.00pm—and tried to ignore the near-constant flood of messages from the Solo boys.

Ben was a fiend, the absolute worst, sending photos of his sweaty self, working out, in the mirror, white tank pulled up over his abs—with just an obscene amount of eggplant and water droplet emojis.

He seemed to be in competition with his youngest brother. Poor Randy was anxious to organise things for you—all the things you like—to make your first weekend with the boys as comfortable and carefree as possible for you. He’d been trying earnestly to ascertain your favourite tea and biscuits, soap, shampoo and conditioner, nail polish colours, and myriad other things. But Ben kept trying to steal the spotlight with selfies.

Matt chimed in every now and then, counting down. ‘6 hours until you’re ours’ he texted, and, ‘4 hours little pet’ and, ‘Not long now pet. 2 hours to go’ and finally, ‘One hour. Don't be late’

Kylo had been the quietest of the four. He sent a message at 4.03pm, which read, ‘Drive safe. I’ll be home soon, little one.’

The flirtatious messages and cute emojis were all fun and games until the time came for you to drive yourself to the Solo house. By the time you saw Kylo’s message, got back to your car, dumped your books and tote bag in the backseat, and plunged the keys into the ignition—nervous anticipation whirled in the pit of your stomach.

The logistics of the arrangement had been loosely agreed in advance, first at breakfast after the party and then via a _very_ challenging teleconference with the four of them: you didn’t have classes on Mondays or Fridays, so from Thursday night to Tuesday morning you would stay at the Solo house and spend one day and one night with each boy, leaving you a night to yourself whenever you wanted it, if you wanted it.

Neither you nor they had ever done anything like this, a fact which you had to remind them of frequently. There was going to be hiccups, you’d said, without a doubt, so take it easy on each other.

But still, the boys were relentless, and defensive, and questions cropped up about ‘my day’ this and ‘my night’ that. Palm to your forehead, gazing at your phone as four loud Solo voices rose through the loudspeaker—you’d eventually hung up on them.

Randy had called back a few minutes later—’We’re sorry, duchess,’—and all four brothers agreed to calm the fuck down and give this plan a chance.

Sitting in your car now, you scrolled through the day’s messages, preparing to drive off and steeling yourself to cross another point of no return. But your phone lights up—Ben Solo calling—and the butterflies in your gut become a full-blown swarm.

You take a breath, and answer. “Benny boy.”

“Ooh. Hey, baby.”

The tone of his voice makes you smile. “What do you want, Ben?”

“I just wanna know how far away my babygirl is. Have you left campus yet, gorgeous?”

“Just about.”

“Cool. Good,” he says, then softer, quieter, after a pause, “…you ok, babe?”

You let his question hang in the air. It doesn’t surprise you that Ben has sense and empathy enough to check in with you. You’re thankful for his call. “Yeah,” you sigh. “It’s just.” You swallow.

Ben waits patiently for you to collect your thoughts. He’s got a feeling about what you’re gonna say, and he lets you get it out.

You say, “Is it possible to have first time jitters after we’ve all already fucked?”

Ben chuckles. You’re gorgeous. He says, “’second-time jitters’ is definitely a thing.”

“It is, right?”

“Right, absolutely.”

“Cool, just checking.”

There’s a comfortable silence, then; you each lingering on the sound of the other’s voice when you smile through your words.

Ben murmurs quietly, “y’know… it’s just us, babe. And none of us’ll do anything you don’t—,”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt him. The discussion’s been had. “It’s not about that. It’s more like… it just feels different this time. Before, after the party… that just happened. This is, planned.”

“There’s expectations now,” Ben supplies.

“Yes!” he hit the nail on the head, “this is, by design. It’s organised. It’s—,”

“Real.”

You sigh. He gets it. He understands. “Ben…” you decide to lay it all on the line, “what if this is… an unmitigated fucking disaster?”

“Oh, baby,” Ben croons, “is that what you’re worried about? Listen, we’ll do it just like you said, yeah? We’ll talk about it and figure it out and make it work. All of us, together. Ok?”

You take another breath, letting the rational side of your brain take the lead now. “Ok. Together.”

“Right,” says Ben, “the second something’s not OK, we’ll have a,” he stops, laughs, “ _family meeting_.”

“Oh my God, Ben.” You wince, trying not to laugh, but Ben’s losing it. A discussion about four brothers fucking one girl being called a ‘family meeting’ was just an absurd idea, wrong and hilarious. “Can we please not call it that?”

Ben finally quiets down. “Ahh sorry, babycakes. That ship has, as of now, sailed. ‘Family meeting’ it was and ‘family meeting’ it shall be. Now get your ass over here, I miss you and Matt’s already pacing.”

“Pacing—?”

“Hang on a sec, babe,” Ben mutters, then you hear him call away from the receiver a little louder, “she’s leaving now, Matty.”

_‘Now?’_ you hear Matt’s incredulous voice through the phone.

“Remember, gorgeous,” Ben says, his volume now returned to normal, “from the campus it’s quicker to come down Columbus—,”

_‘What do you mean she’s leaving **now**?’_

“—and avoid the I-90 altogether, ‘specially this time of day.”

“Got it.” You hold your phone in the crook of your neck and shoulder, and buckle your seatbelt. “Be there soon.”

_‘Give me the phone, Ben.’_ Matt’s voice sounds closer, now.

“Bye, baby,” Ben sing-songs cheerily, and the last thing you hear is muffled words and curses before the call disconnects.

**XXXX**

You’re just about to knock on the front door when it’s yanked open, and you’re greeted by a tall, blond, leanly muscled Solo, his glasses glinting.

With a stern, dark glower he searches your eyes and says, “you’re la… you kept me wai…”

You keep your eyes locked on his, as Matt struggles to figure out what to do with you, and himself.

“Fuck.” He closes the distance between you quickly and cradles both sides of your face in his hands, murmuring, “c’m’ere, pet,” before joining your lips in a kiss deeper and more passionate than you could’ve expected. Matt searches your mouth with deliberate purpose and hungry intent, caressing your lips with his own and licking along your tongue like he’s never tasted anything so sweet.

You can’t help the low groan that hums in your throat, and your shoulders drop, your overnight bags slipping down your arms and onto the threshold.

The blond brother presses closer to your body. As he massages your lips and tongue with his, one hand slips around to cradle your nape, and his other slips down around your throat—holding you possessively. With a deep hum he sucks your bottom lip, then changes the slant of his mouth over yours.

Your thoughts evaporate in swirling, heady desire. You shrug the straps of your bags off your arms, letting them fall to the ground completely, and take hold of Matt’s hips.

He huffs through his nose, his grip on you tightening in the _most_ pleasurable way—before he grunts and pulls quickly away, breaking off the kiss suddenly, and breathing hard into your open mouth.

Your eyes are half-lidded, but you can make out his subtly flushed cheeks, and extra-pink, swollen lips. You breathe his name.

“I’m working tonight,” he murmurs breathlessly.

Surprised, but still in a daze, you stammer your words a little, “wh-what? Work? Where?”

“The comic shop. In town.” He drinks in your breaths, and his top teeth toy with his bottom lip as your throat moves under his palm. “It’ll be late. You’ll be asleep before I get back, probably.”

“Oh.”

A voice from inside breaks through the churning miasma of want and need that had so quickly descended upon the two of you.

“Do I hear the dulcet tones of my one and o—,”

Ben appears in the doorway beside Matt: his face falls, and he and abruptly stops speaking.

For a moment.

“—onhwhat the fuck?”

Slowly, blinking, you and Matt release each other’s body, the spell broken.

“Matt,” says Ben, thunder and lightning forming in his eyes, “what in fuck’s name do you think you’re fucking doing, little brother?”

“Ben,” you warn, noticing how the elder of the two had drawn up and squared his shoulders.

Matt clenches his jaw, and his nostrils flare. He turns to his brother. “What did it look like I was fucking doing, you fuckin’ jackass—,”

“You don’t touch her until we all—,”

“ _You_ don’t make the fucking rules, Ben—who are you, Kylo?”

There’s silence, then.

A truly murderous look crosses Ben’s features. You watch as he draws in a deep breath, readying for something.

Something glimmers in Matt’s dark eyes, and he squints as he peers at Ben, like he knows he’s gone too far and willingly pushed a big red button.

You place your hands on them, “boys, stop it,” trying to separate them and diffuse the rapidly, needlessly, escalating situation.

“We had a fucking agreement, Matt,” Ben snarls.

“I’ve got work,” Matt spits out defensively, his brow pinching.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got training—,”

“I leave before you—,”

“Duchess,” Randy gasps as he appears in the doorway on the other side of Matt, like he didn’t expect to see you here yet. His eyes are wide, his gaze flitting nervously between his brothers and you. He tries to grab Matt’s arms and pull him from Ben, but the blond shrugs off the youngest Solo effortlessly.

Matt and Ben lock foreheads together—and you’ve had it.

“That’s enough!”

Your voice rings out, and the brothers back down with indignant huffs. Still staring daggers, but at the ground now, and shrugging off the worst of the aggression.

For a millisecond you wish Kylo were here: firstly, so he could’ve seen you do that, and secondly, so he could’ve done it himself.

If Daddy were here, you’re certain it wouldn’t have gotten that far.

Quietly, you say, “is this how you’d like me to spend my first night here?”

Matt flicks a furtive glance up at you, shakes his head and looks back down at the ground with a deep sigh through his nose.

Ben lifts his head up, frowning. “No, baby. I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t think so.” You offer Randy a small, apologetic smile, which he returns. You go on, “and it’s probably escaped your notice, since you were too busy sizing up each other’s dicks—which, by the way, you’ll remember I’ve already seen—but I haven’t even been invited in yet, and I don’t like that.”

Ben’s frown deepens, and he crosses his arms defensively. Matt shifts his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“I know we’re all still figuring this shit out and I’ll give you all the time you need for that, but, please.” You stop. You huff. “You’re all the king of the jungle to me, ok?—”

All three of them look to you—Matt and Ben’s features soften.

“—so please, for me, ease up just a little bit with the alpha-male stuff?”

Ben sighs and nods. Matt shifts on his feet, and nods once, before looking away.

You feel that this isn’t the last time you’ll need to re-assure them, but they’ve cooled off for now. “Just until I get in the door,” you add for levity, the hint of a smile playing at your lips.

Matt glances back at you, chewing his cheeks to stop from smiling, but his eyes are glinting.

Ben lets his face break into a dimpled crinkled half-smile. He unfolds his arms.

You turn your gaze to Randy. “Now. You.”

Randy’s brows pull up and his mouth drops open, his expression a little bit hopeful, and his pride swelling that you’d pick him out for something in front of his brothers.

You crook your finger at him and say, “gimme a kiss, loverboy.”

Randy steps forward. Very quietly and with a small smile he says, “can I give you two, duchess?”

“Course you can,” you whisper.

It tickles the base of his spine, and Randy’s features light up beautifully. He takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your palm, then squeezes your hand in his while he places another kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispers, just for you to hear, before pulling away and picking up one of your bags from the ground.

Ben comes in close to you next, no prompting required. “Hi, babygirl,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your other cheek, close to your mouth, and then nipping your shoulder. He grabs your other bag. “Cool if we put these in your room? Then we’ve gotta get ready for training.” Ben gestures to himself and Randy.

“Oh?” you glance between the two of them.

“Hockey, duchess.”

“Field. Every Tuesday and Thursday at 7.”

All the times you’d run into Ben on campus, that little morsel of information hadn’t once popped up. “I never knew that!” you smile between the brothers. With Matt at work, and Ben and Randy out too, it would just be you and Kylo in the house for the better part of the night. You leave this unsaid.

Ben slings you a charming, knock-out, killer smile that just about sets your underwear on fire. “There’s a lot you’re gonna learn about us, baby… you could come with us, watch us if you like.”

You smile at Ben, his charm infectious. “Maybe next week,” you reply.

There’s a glimmer of recognition across each of the boys’ faces—like they had forgotten and now immediately remembered that this, what’s happening now, is _not_ a one-time thing.

“When’s your game, sweetcheeks?” you ask Randy.

He smiles at the ground before sheepishly locking eyes with you, “11 on Sundays, duchess.”

“I’ll be there,” you wink at the youngest brother, who blushes a pretty pink.

Ben chuckles, looks to Randy and then jerks his head in the direction of the house behind him. The two take their leave with your bags in tow.

As they’re walking away, you hear Randy mutter, “I really wish you wouldn’t fight.”

“I know, buddy,” comes Ben’s reply.

“It stresses me out.”

“I’m sorry.” Ben nudges playfully into Randy’s shoulder with his own, and the two disappear around the corner into the hallway that leads, eventually, to your bedroom.

Matt stands at the door with you, waiting until he can’t hear his brothers’ footsteps or voices anymore.

In the companionable silence he takes a slow step closer, his dark gazed locked on yours intently. He keeps a respectable distance, knowing he doesn’t have a hell of a lot of time, and places one large, warm hand on the side of your neck.

You say his name again, the syllable threaded with caution, but the blond shakes his head, dismissing your warning.

Matt leans in to the other side of your neck, like he did on _that_ night. His lips trail up your skin, and he presses a warm, lingering, shiver-inducing kiss to the delicate spot behind and below your lobe.

His hot breath fans over your ear as he murmurs, “’m sorry too, little pet,” – and then Matthew Solo leans away.

**XXXX**

At ten to six, Kylo strides in the front door.

You almost lose your grip on your tea cup, and by the way Kylo’s head snaps to yours, you guess that as the word, “Daddy,” sprung into your head it simultaneously made it’s way out of your mouth.

He quickly shrugs off his coat and sets his black leather briefcase bag down, then hastily makes his way into the kitchen where you, Ben, Matt and Randy had been chatting and snacking on pretzels. He runs his fingers through his hair, brushing loose locks back from his face.

Kylo makes a beeline for you. With every step his shoulder-length black waves are gently tousled, his black button-up shirt—the top two buttons undone—ripples over his muscular arms and torso, and his dark charcoal grey slacks taper neatly down his long legs.

You want to ask him where the hell he’s been, dressed like that. Where did he just come from? Did Kylo have a _job_?

He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls them up to his elbows as he strides closer, around the kitchen island to you.

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his fingers slipping gently into the soft hairs at the nape of your neck. He pecks a quick, eager kiss straight to your lips. “Daddy missed you too,” he says, before his mouth joins yours in a longer, sweeter kiss.

Despite your attempts to stop it, a whimper claws its way up your throat.

Matt looks pointedly at Ben and gestures accusingly at Kylo.

“Alright, alright, get a room,” says Ben, chucking a pretzel at the eldest brother.

Kylo breaks the kiss. “I’d love to,” he says onto your lips. “Shall we, little one?”

“Jesus can you not, Kylo? I’ve gotta leave in 10 minutes,” Matt huffs unhappily.

Ben clears his throat, “yeah, let’s get this done, Kylo, then you can have her—if that’s what our babygirl wants, of course.” He winks at you.

“Wait,” you’re just slightly confused, “what are we getting done?”

“Who’s who,” says Matt, “or, _when_ ’s who.”

“What?”

“Who do you choose, little one?” says Kylo, brushing some hair back from your face tenderly. “For the first night?”

“And the second, and third, and fourth,” Matt finishes.

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Oh no,” you scoff, “I’m not falling for that again. No fuckin’ way.”

Ben’s brow furrows. “Baby, how did you think we’d do thi—?”

“You’re not making me choose!” You slip off the barstool and search the kitchen drawers for a spare pad of paper. “Starts so many bloody arguments,” you mutter, opening drawers and letting them soft-close until you find a pen and paper, rip the paper into four and then write one of their names on each piece.

“Clever girl,” croons Ben.

“Thanks, Benny boy,” you husk back, and Ben mouths “oof” and pretends a shiver runs up his spine.

You roll your eyes at him, and he smiles.

Kylo clears his throat.

“Can we hurry this the fuck up?” says Matt, his voice tight.

You grab a mug from the nearby mug tree, fold the papers in half to conceal the names, and drop them in. “We’ll start from Friday, yeah?” you say, placing your hand over the mug and shaking it to shuffle the papers.

You set the mug down, and all four pairs of Solo eyes follow it to the counter, with something like reverence.

“Friday,” Kylo and Ben agree with you in unison, by accident.

“Go ahead, little one,” Kylo nods.

“Sure. Friday, babe,” says Ben.

You reach in, and pull out the first name.

“Kylo,” you read.

The eldest Solo takes a deep breath in, looking absolutely chuffed and doing nothing to attempt to hide it. He’s first. Again.

You reach in for the second name. “Saturday is… Ben.”

Ben’s eyes sparkle. “Perfect,” he smiles. Loving the game, he glances excitedly between his two younger brothers.

“This’ll be Sunday, and obviously, we’ll know who Monday is too,” you say, shaking the mug again.

The two youngest Solos nod.

“Randy,” you read off the slip of paper. You glance up at him. “You’re on Sunday, sweetheart.”

A gorgeous smile blooms on Randy’s face, and Ben claps him on the back.

“That leaves you, Matt,” you pluck the last redundant paper from the mug. “Monday, _Sir_.”

The blond brother squints, and a muscle under his left eye twitches. Matt’s got class on Monday, but he can blow it off. He’s gonna change majors anyway. And Kylo’d have work tomorrow, too—is he gonna call in sick?

This system needed work.

“Fine,” Matt pushes up off where he was leaning on the island benchtop, frustration bubbling away beneath his skin. He crosses to you swiftly, nudging Kylo from your space. “I can wait,” he grits through clenched teeth, and the words tumble from his lips. “I’ll send you home wrecked, little pet. Sore and bruised, inside ‘n’ out, you’ll fucking see.”

Your stomach does somersaults, flickers of desire rekindling from earlier.

Matt grabs your jaw hard, squeezing. “What do you say to me, dirty slut?” he snarls. “I saw it in your eyes, you want it.” His black orbs flit between yours, lost in them, hungry.

Randy bristles. He levels a look at his eldest brother.

“Yes, Sir,” you say, saliva pooling in your mouth.

Matt’s nostrils flare, and he looses a heavy sigh through his nose, his hot exhale fanning over your face as he cleans in close. The air stills as Matt’s about to kiss you, his grip unrelentingly tight on your jaw—but an alarm on his watch goes off.

“Fuck,” he hisses onto your mouth.

His brothers seem to breathe again.

“I’m late.” He makes a rapid lunge for your mouth, as if he’s going to bite your lips, his teeth clacking together before he releases your jaw and pulls away.

“Buh-bye, Matty,” Ben grins.

Matt makes swiftly for the door, grumbling farewells over his shoulder to you and his brothers as he grabs his light grey bomber jacket from the rack and heads out. You don’t catch all of it, but the mutter you do hear sounds like, ‘yeah, yeah. See ya’s fuckin’ later, fuck’

Ben glances at the microwave, checking the time. “We’ve gotta be outta here soon too, babygirl. As much as I’d love to stay.”

Subtly, smoothly, Kylo trails a large hand down your back, coming to rest on your lumbar and radiating warmth.

But your interest is piqued: you want to know more about Ben and Randy’s sporting endeavours. You lean forward onto the counter—a move that Kylo appreciates.

“Tell me about this,” you say eagerly, looking between Randy and Ben, “how long have you guys played?”

Ben glances at Randy. “Three, four years?”

Randy nods, “four, yeah.”

“And what—like, I don’t know the rules, but—what do you do? Like what positions—,”

Kylo’s thumb swipes slowly back and forth over your lower back.

“Midfielder,” Ben says, leaning back and stretching, pushing his shoulder blades together. “I can do it all, babycakes.”

Even Randy smiles at this.

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Ben’s really good, duchess,” says Randy, “he does offence and defence, he’s always running. He’s our best guy.”

“Naww shucks, buddy,” coos Ben, bumping playfully into Randy’s shoulder with his own again.

“What about you, sweets?” you ask Randy, taking a sip of tea. “Mm, this is really good by the way.”

“Keeper.” Randy looks a little bashful, appreciative of your compliment. He thinks he’s almost got it down pat, how to brew you the perfect cuppa.

“Goalkeeper?”

“This guy,” says Ben with an excited, proud smile, clapping his youngest brother on both shoulders and squeezing, “is the state’s best goalie—hands down—swear on my life.”

Randy breaks into a smile and shakes his head, “nahh, Ben.”

“Yeahh, bud,” Ben replies, ruffling his brother’s hair. He turns back to you. “You don’t know how many games Randy’s won for us, babe. _Saved_ for us. He’s just being modest, hey, Kylo?”

“It’s true. I’ve seen it,” Kylo replies, looking at you, then his brother. “You’re a great keeper, Randy.”

“That game against Old Town, _man_!” Ben’s excitement is contagious. “The stuff of _legend_.”

Randy breaks into a laugh, his eyes and cheeks crinkling.

“They play on Sundays,” Kylo says to you, “we can go watch a game if you’d like.”

You nod. “Mm, we’ve talked—,”

“Beat you to it, big brother,” chimes Ben, “plus, that’s Randy’s day. You’d have to run that past him, big man.”

Surreptitiously, for a microsecond, Kylo bristles, and Ben takes a particular glee in that.

“Of course,” says Kylo, giving a curt nod to Randy.

Randy waves it off, quickly and uncomfortably, not used to this; and Ben’s gleaming smile as he glances between his brothers is the single most unhelpful thing he could be doing right now.

“So that’s settled then, for Sunday,” you break in. “Sounds good.” You smile at all three of them—and they all visibly relax.

“We should head off now, Ben,” says Randy, glancing at his phone. “I’ll warm the car up,” he holds a hand out to his brother.

Ben sighs. He’d been having fun. “Alright, let’s do it, big guy.” He drops the car keys into Randy’s palm, and skulls the last of his glass of water.

Randy sidles over and presses a quick peck to your cheek, saying his goodbyes.

Ben saunters around the island too, says, “be back soon,” as he slings a pointed look at Kylo, then kisses your shoulder and says, “baby.”

The two make their way out the front door, and after the large wooden panel closes, a gentle, hushed silence falls over the house.

After a moment, Kylo says, “It’s just us now, little one.” He runs his palm up, then back down your spine. “They’ll be gone for a few hours.”

You spin on the barstool to face him properly, and it takes every ounce of Kylo’s self control not to insert himself between your legs, dip his fingers into your jeans and kiss you with every fibre of his being.

“You wouldn’t want to,” you pause, biting your lip for him, “take advantage of me, would you, Daddy?”

Kylo’s chest rises.

“All alone, in this… big… house?”

Infinitesimally, Kylo’s eyes widen then narrow, and his nostrils flare.

“No, my Daddy wouldn’t do that to me,” you grasp his hand, and keep your eyes on his as you press soft, slow kisses across his knuckles while you talk, “that would go against your own rules. No favourites, and all that. Wouldn’t it, Daddy?”

Kylo’s lower lip quivers, and his breathing becomes audible.

"What would your brothers think?” you whisper onto his skin, pressing another kiss, and another—

“I don’t care,” Kylo growls, stepping between your legs.

He wraps his arms around you, one hand snaking into the hair at your nape and the other winding around your back, locking you to his long torso. He leans down and crushes his mouth to yours, licking your lips open and swirling his tongue around your own. He kisses you deeply, with fervour, and his nose presses into your cheek.

You clutch his shoulders and cling tightly to the sturdy muscle there, keeping him pulled close to you.

Kylo hums into your mouth—and comes to his senses, his conscience breaking through his desire. You were right. If _he_ can’t follow the rules, how can he expect his brothers to do the same?

It almost physically hurts him, to stem the tide that threatens to engulf him, to stop himself from getting lost in you. Gradually, Kylo slows down the intensity of his kiss, gently easing off until he’s merely grazing your lips with his.

Eyes hooded, he swallows, collecting himself. Fate had intervened, and he’d be the first to have you, yet again. One more sleep, and you’re his.

Kylo murmurs into your mouth, “have you eaten, little one? Did my brothers feed you?”

**XXXX**

Forty-five minutes later, you’re sitting in your cute, comfy pj’s on the Solo’s large, plush corner lounge, freshly showered, eating your favourite Indian dish which had been delivered by the Solos’ preferred north Indian takeaway place.

Kylo had assured you it would be good, and it was indeed delicious.

He sat next to you, devouring a plate of tandoori fish skewers and rice. The TV was on low in the background, above the modern stone-faced fireplace.

“God, ‘m fucking starving,” he mutters between mouthfuls, not realising how hungry he was. “Meetings ran into my lunch hour.”

You hadn’t gotten around to talking about, _this_ whole thing yet, even though you hadn’t stopped admiring Kylo in his slick, sharp work clothes since he walked in the door.

Now, he gave you the perfect opportunity.

“You work, Daddy?” you ask, and Kylo nods. “What do you?”

Kylo finishes chewing. “I’m an architect, little one.”

Your jaw drops. “An architect?”

“Mhm. At KOR Studio,” he gathers some rice on a spoon, “in town. You know the new Conservatorium of Music at the university?”

“Oh my God, yes,” you recall the mammoth, modern building to mind, “you did that?”

“Mmhm,” Kylo hums, swallowing another mouthful. “Well, _we_ did that. I wasn’t on that project. I was still doing my internship then, parks and stuff.”

“You designed parks?”

He glances at you, and the impressed surprise on your face makes his heart soar with pride. He reaches over, and gently, fondly lifts your chin to close your fallen jaw. “A few,” he murmurs, appreciating the softness of your skin.

“Can we go see them? And your drawings?”

Kylo gazes you, light and warmth shimmering in his eyes. He sets his finished plate and utensils down on the coffee table, then sits back on the couch, reaching along the top of the cushions to gently stroke your jaw with the back of his index finger. “If you’d like that, beautiful.”

You press a small kiss to his finger, and murmur, “I would, Daddy.’

A deep lungful of air fills Kylo’s chest. He releases it in a heavy sigh as he looks deeply into your eyes.

He’s got time. They’d never know, unless you told them. He could take you, here and now. He could have you. He could make you scream for him.

Instead of following through on his basest desires, for which he has the strongest, deepest yearning, Kylo instead says, “finished?” and gestures to your plate.

You thank him as you hand it to him, feeling clean, full and relaxed.

Kylo places your plate on his, and settles back on the couch again.

The man looks godlike. Long, dark hair grazing his shoulders. One muscular arm stretched across the top of the couch cushions. Long legs crossed at the ankles, the heels of his shoes grounding his feet to the floor. And his other hand, his fingers, beckoning you, as he says—

“Come here, little one.”

You scoot closer, and Kylo slides his palm down your body as you get cozy against his solid body, settling the side of your head against the softer flesh where his pec and delt meet. Gingerly, you rest your hand in the middle of his chest, fingertips glancing the buttons on his shirt.

As you get comfortable, Kylo grabs the remote, and presses a kiss to your hair.

**XXXX**

A gentle hubbub of deep, but quiet voices slowly rouses you from sleep.

Wait.

From sleep?

You blink your eyes awake, feeling a deep rumbling through the solid mass beneath your palm, and your ear.

Kylo’s chest rises and falls gently with the rhythm of his breathing, and he's murmuring quietly to a nearby, sweaty Ben.

Ben, nodding at something Kylo had just said, catches your eye. "Hey, gorgeous."

Kylo stops, cranes his neck to look down at you. "Ah,” he hums softly, gently brushing the back of his finger down your cheek, “my sleeping beauty’s awake."

You rise up off Kylo’s chest, just slightly. "Daddy?" You don't remember passing out on him, and you know your voice sounds small and sleepy.

Kylo fucking melts. The eldest Solo becomes a puddle, absolutely liquid in the palm of your hand. As if you weren't already delectable enough, snuggling in close to his chest with your legs tucked up underneath you, cracking jokes that made him laugh at the old action flick on TV until, after a few minutes of silence, Kylo listened to the way your breathing had changed and how you rested all your weight completely against him and he knew, then. Knew that you’d been lulled to sleep against his big warm body.

So, he'd let you doze on his chest and in his arms and became the self-appointed guardian of your slumber, a thought that flooded his chest with pride and purpose, with power and responsibility, as he let himself become more and more smitten with you.

Captivated, and far too quick.

Now, he smiles softly as you rub one of your eyes.

“What time is it?”

“Just after 9, babe,” says Ben. He’d been hoping, secretly, to persuade to join him in a little post-hockey-training shower.

Maybe next week, he tells himself.

“9?” You don’t believe it. There was something about this house, about the way it made you feel. You slept better here than in your own bed. More relaxed, calm, and content.

Kylo nuzzles in close to your ear and murmurs, "Daddy's gonna put you to bed now, little one."

You hum your approval. Bed sounded good—especially if it came with more cuddles from Daddy.

"Hop up, beautiful," Kylo says, and Ben offers you an outstretched arm.

You take his hand, and he helps hoist you up off the world’s comfiest couch.

Standing, you stretch your limbs out, interlocking your fingers and raising your arms above your head—and the two brothers eye your figure shamelessly, clad as it is in soft, cozy pyjamas.

"How was training?" you ask Ben, stretching your arms out to the side now, making your sleep tee stretch taut over your breasts.

"Was good, baby. Really worked up a sweat." He runs his fingers through his hair, and you properly notice his red flushed cheeks and nose, and the way he soaked through parts of his grey shirt with the cut off sleeves.

Kylo sighs, ushering you along. "This way, little one.”

"’Night, Benny," you murmur, letting Kylo lead you around the couch.

"G'night, babygirl. Sleep tight."

Soon, Kylo’s leading you through the hallways that lead to your room, in, he tells you, the newer addition to the house.

“Did you design this?” you ask him.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “No, this is a couple of years old now. Our parents did it, back when... I mostly do commercial or, industrial projects, public spaces.”

His words hang in the air, the both of you taking a moment to gauge whether to unpack that or not. You’d never heard Ben mention any family other than his brothers, and Matt had definitely not said anything about his parents.

Kylo says, “you'll learn your way around soon enough, little one," and with that, the topic is dropped.

Walking down the stairs, you’re curious about something else, something a little easier—you hope—to talk about. "Daddy, where do you sleep?"

“We’re all upstairs,” he replies, rounding the corner and opening the double-doors to your bedroom for you. “Not too far.”

You stop in the doorway, gazing up at him.

“I’ll show you tomorrow, ok?” Kylo says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Take you on a tour of the place.”

Without a doubt, you needed that. Their house is fucking massive and you know your way to a total of three rooms. The fact that you’ve let all four of these brothers round-robin fuck you, but you couldn’t say where the first floor bathroom is?

A tour is required. “Ok, Daddy.”

Kylo’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how, when you say that, his stomach flips and his heart skips a beat. “Good,” he leans in, and murmurs in your ear, “and I’ve got a present for you, little one. In the morning.”

He leans back, and your delighted face is even prettier than he imagined it’d be.

“A present?” You can barely contain yourself, and you know your glee is writ plain on your face. Presents and surprises are fucking awesome. On a whim, you step closer to him, feeling a second wind pick up and break you out of your tiredness.

You know you’re treading dangerously here, but you let the words slip past your lips anyway, breathy and sexy and meaning more than you say. “Will you give it to me now, Daddy? Please?”

Kylo’s lids drop—just a little—but they do, and his eyebrows pinch in and his lips part. All in the space of less than a second, before his features return to normal just as quickly. “Little one…” he swallows, trying to gather his thoughts.

God damn it, he’d been doing so well. He’d glossed over his own desire for you at every turn. He was on the home stretch, too: walk you to your room, tuck you into bed, kiss you goodnight—that’s all he had left to do, and then he was free to race to his room and fuck his fist raw. He could make himself cum until he passed out, with thoughts of you swirling in his head, and not break any rules.

But now, this, what you were doing to him with those eyes and that voice… you plucked at his resolve as easily as if it were a loose thread, and he felt on the brink of fraying, ready to unravel and lose himself in the sweet, hot depths of your—

“Am I making it hard for you, Daddy?” You make your voice sugar-sweet, and trail down his arm to clasp his hand in your smaller one. You draw it to your mouth and press kisses to his knuckles again, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “I am, aren’t I, Daddy?”

Kylo tears his hand from your grip and presses it to your chest, pushing and walking you backwards until your spine hits the doortrim. “Don’t,” he leans in, hot breath puffing over your face, “tempt me, little one.”

His eyes are fiery and wild, like when you’d _really_ gotten to him that night with all his brothers. “Are you-,” you start, and his eyes flare. You try again, putting on your smallest voice, “are you gonna, punish me, Daddy? If I do?”

This was the part he didn’t like: the discipline, the pulling into line. He doesn’t want to have to hurt you—emotionally or physically—to get you to behave. That’s not what being your Daddy is about for him. He just wants you to be _good_ ; just wants you to let him take care of you, protect you, keep you safe.

Kylo grinds his teeth, and presses firmly on your chest. “Last warning, little one. Be a good girl, get into that fucking bed, and you’ll get your present when you wake up.”

It was not lost on either of you, somehow, that part of this ‘present’ would also include as much as you could handle of Daddy’s big dick.

You give up the ghost, and cast your gaze down, your head tipping slightly: a movement that silently acknowledges that you won’t bait him again tonight. You know what’s at stake, and it’s too early in the game for such a play. You should’ve known better, given all the bullshit with Ben and Matt earlier, but messing with Kylo was just too easy.

You’re learning his boundaries, too. Just like he’s learning yours.

Kylo tilts your head up with a finger under your chin. His eyes soften. “Daddy tuck you in?” he murmurs, flicking his gaze to the bed and back.

You nod. It’s for the best. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Kylo breathes, pressing a kiss to your forehead.


	2. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : tea (I’m so sorry if you don’t drink tea/coffee I put it in so much stuff), a Lev Shapiro quote that works perfectly with Ben Solo, I don’t know if there’s any real “warnings” in this besides – Reader is figuring out all the boys??, domestic stuff, service sub!Randy, possessive!Kylo with DD/lg, smut (what’s new there though??) (Length warning: +5k words) (It’s actually almost 10k words)  
>  **XXXX**  
>  I'm so sorry. Please enjoy!?

You blink awake in the morning light, diffused as it is through the blush pink curtains that stream down the large picture window. You’re cosy in the warm sheets and plush blankets, the pillow is soft under your head, and it takes you a second to remember where you are, in which bed, in whose house.

And what day it is.

You reach over the large bed to the bedside table where Kylo had put your phone last night. Glancing at the time, you see it’s about twenty minutes after your alarm usually wakes you up on uni days—dragging you groggily into the waking world—but today you feel _so_ well rested. Relaxed and refreshed.

Habit kicks in. You’re awake, which means it’s time for the first and best cup of tea of the day. Slipping out of bed, your skin is graced by the slight chill in the air. You didn’t pack a robe, though, so some combination of slippers and socks will have to do for now.

Something flickers in your mind, bringing a small smile to your face: if Randy knew you were cold, or going without something, he’d be mortified.

You climb the stairs quietly, re-tracing your steps from the previous couple of times you’ve walked to and from the— _your_ —bedroom. The house is so still this time of the morning, cloaked in such a quiet peacefulness that you find yourself treading lightly on the floorboards—as if your footfalls could wake the four brothers asleep above you.

You find your way to the kitchen, where the tiled floor and walls make the room extra cold. Through the large bay window the morning sun peeks over the horizon, casting the manicured shrubbery and smooth concrete circular drive in pale yellow light.

You fill the kettle and flick it on to boil, and gaze out the window at the rising sun and lightening sky as the small appliance whirrs and rumbles. You have a view straight down the cul-de-sac, awash with the early glow of daybreak, and for a moment you think you see…

Yes, you do see it. A silhouette, at first. A figure. Someone running, up over the crest and towards the house, jogging in the middle of the road like they own the place.

You tilt your head. The form, the size and shape, look familiar. The person, the man, comes closer—making no moves to divert from the driveway that leads to the Solo’s home.

Sneakered feet land firmly on the asphalt, propelling him forward like he’s springing from the ground. Muscles in his slightly bowed legs ripple, up up up until his thighs are covered by dark shorts and you can see no more. His blue-grey tee is sweat-stuck to his twisting torso as his arms, bent at the elbows, swing with the momentum of his body. He races forth, closer now, up on the driveway and his dark hair, backlit from the dawning sun, bounces with every step he takes and shines around his head like a halo.

You can make him out now, now that you can see his face as he leaps energetically onto the second of three steps and onto the porch, panting and puffing and sweaty.

The kettle flicks off, just as his name solidifies in your brain.

_Ben_.

The second eldest Solo huffs as he tilts up the pot plant, grabs the key, unlocks the front door, and pulls it open. He strides in, panting still, his skin covered in a wet sheen of sweat and his cheeks and nose flushed red.

You shiver, and not just from the cold air.

Ben drops the spare key onto the console table near the coat rack. He runs his hand through his sweaty hair as he turns, puffing as he makes his way into the kitchen. His fingers are slow on their trail through the ends of his dark brown locks—and he spies you, watching him, your mouth agape.

Ben’s eyes turn smouldering—playful and blazing—as quick as a nanosecond. Quicker.

You clamp your mouth shut as he strolls over.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he murmurs deeply, stopping before you with a popped hip, setting his hands on where—you guess—the waistband of his shorts rests against his hips. He hunches his shoulders, crouching into your space, but stops just before he plants a kiss on your lips.

His breathing hasn’t quite settled yet, his chest noticeably rising and falling, and his voice is huffed when he says, by way of explanation, “Sweaty,” – and presses a kiss with grazing teeth to your shoulder instead of your lips.

“Hi, Ben,” your voice is dropped low and husky, by complete accident. You can’t take your eyes off this one single bead of sweat, watching it roll gently down the right side of Ben’s neck. You stop yourself from licking your lips—but Ben sees it, sees it in the subtle way your mouth moves, the way you flick your eyes back up to meet his, your pupils now big and black.

Ben’s gaze flicks down to your chest, and his eyes linger there. He chews on his lips for a moment before looking back up at you and murmuring, “You cold, baby?”

You curse inwardly at neglecting even a jumper, knowing your budded nipples are peeking through your pyjama top and giving Ben all the justification he needs to lay his next line on you. Oozing pure sex he croons—

“Want me to warm you up?”

The smile that teases his lips and shines in his sparkling, chocolate eyes is so full of charm and danger, you cross your arms, folding them over your chest.

Ben pouts, giving you his sweetest puppy dog eyes.

“I’m good, Ben,” you coo, pressing his bottom lip back with your index finger to dispel his exaggerated frown. You tap him on the cheek and say, “Next time,” before turning to pour boiling water from the kettle into your teacup.

A stranger to shame, Ben ogles your bra-less chest for a long moment, his two front teeth digging into his bottom lip. Then, he stands up straight and slides in behind you, pressing his crotch into your backside as you steep the teabag.

He’s already half-way there, half-way stiff, it feels like—and you fight your body, making sure you do _not_ press back against him. “What are you doing, Ben?” you say, and you’re pleased that your voice is now even and measured, bordering on disinterested.

But Ben leans down to your ear, and even the musky scent of his exertion makes your insides flutter—against your will.

“Don’t mind me, babygirl,” Ben murmurs huskily. He slides his pelvis against your ass. “I’m just trying to get your attention.” He slides his sweaty arms under yours, sneaking his palms beneath yours where they rest on the edge of the countertop.

You resist, with every single fibre of your being you resist him. If you give Ben even an inch, he’ll take a mile, and you know that the consequences would be disastrous.

You also know that Ben Solo cannot fucking help himself.

“Unlucky for you, Benny boy.” You lift your palms from his and press closer to the counter, away from his body—all of the tall, hot, sweaty, muscled breadth of it. “It’s not your day.”

Ben hums, snatches your wrist and quickly spins you around to face him.

His eyes glint enticingly, glittering with a desire he doesn’t care to contain as he crowds closer to you. “I won’t tell if you won’t, baby,” Ben says. “Give you my,” he holds up his index and middle fingers, “scout’s honour,” and winks.

You and he both know: Ben doesn’t just mean he’ll give you his word.

“Don’t do this, Ben.” You press back against the counter, palms flat to the lower cabinets, leaning away from him.

Ben simply follows. He leans in closer, hot breath fanning up your neck, the tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from grazing your skin.

You say, “You do this, and you’ll upset Kylo. Don’t antagonise your brother.”

Ben grips the countertop, two long, muscled arms caging you in. He locks his arms straight and leans back. Ben pouts again, those beautiful plush lips puffing out in pretend sadness. “But I _like_ antagonising him…” Ben leans closer, talks slower, “and I like, _doing_ , you.”

Ben’s so close, your open mouths are almost touching; you’re close enough to breathe the same air, close enough that electricity could arc between your lips and his. His rich brown eyes are heavy-lidded, as are yours; and in this moment, all your senses are full of Ben Solo, just as his are of you.

Up above, a door closes softly. Footsteps pad down the hallway.

You swallow. “Ben. Not today.”

A deep, quiet, rumbling growl resounds in his throat. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t come nearer. It’s like he’s stuck there, held in place by two warring desires.

Footfalls on the stair treads. Whichever brother it is, they’re coming closer.

“ _Ben_. Twenty-four hours. Ok?”

He stays there, lingers in your space, breathing hard through flared nostrils. His teeth meet as he clenches his jaw.

“ _Benjamin_!” you whisper hoarsely—and he tears away from you.

“Good morn—”

A sleepy Solo voice stops abruptly, mid-way through a word. Ben makes like he was getting a glass from one of the upper cabinets, and you register the youngest Solo standing at one of the archways into the kitchen. His straight, dirty-blond hair still messy from sleep.

Randy’s gaze flicks between you, and Ben. He may be the baby of the family, but he’s not stupid.

“Hi, sweets,” you say, a little more confidently than you feel, trying to shake off the feeling that you’d been busted doing something you shouldn’t have.

At the same time, thank God it was _Randy_ who’d walked in just now.

“Oh, hey, man,” Ben says casually, glancing at Randy as if he just realised his brother was there. “You off soon?”

“Yeah,” Randy answers slowly, his voice tinged with suspicion and also, a hint of weariness. Like he doesn’t want to know what was just—or rather, what was _almost_ —going on in here.

“Cool,” says Ben, pulling a stack of containers from the fridge. “Very cool.” There’s three: boiled eggs in one, assorted cut up fruits and berries in the other two.

You can’t believe how calm and collected Ben’s pretending to be. And also—it cannot be any later than 7am, if that. Where could Randy possibly be going at this hour?

Randy gestures to your teacup. “I’m sorry, duchess. I thought I’d be up before you.”

You chuckle a little. “It’s ok, Randy. You don’t have to make me a cup of tea every morning. What are you, my slave?”

There’s a quiet moment. “Oh,” says the youngest Solo, blinking a little more than necessary. Looking a little crestfallen.

Even Ben stops chopping up a banana and glances at his brother, knowing when he hears hurt in Randy’s voice.

“I mean,” you blurt, the realisation breaking over you like a wave. “I just meant,” you struggle to find the words, a little unsure how to navigate the fact that this gesture—however small it may seem to you—is an important, special ritual that Randy wants to do for you. He’s the one who knows, who’s _learned_ , how to prepare this hot drink exactly the way you like it, so that he can do it for you any time, every time, at the drop of a hat—whenever you need or want it done.

And you’d dismissed him. You’d laughed.

“She means,” Ben jumps in, “not on days you’re working, bud.” He glances at you briefly, then looks back to his brother. “Too hard, the timing, y’know?”

Randy looks from Ben to you, quickly, but isn’t able to hold your gaze for long.

“Yeah—,” you try to follow Ben’s lead, but he shoots you a look and cuts you off quickly.

“I was just saying how, you’ve got a shift today and you’re outta here early,” Ben goes back to cutting up fruit, too smooth and casual. “I actually told her to make it herself ‘cause I didn’t think we’d see you.” He looks to his brother. “Sorry, man. That one’s on me.”

“’s ok, Ben.” Randy’s voice is quiet, small. His eyes fall to the ground.

Ben’s head snaps back to you. He looks at you pointedly, subtly gesturing to Randy with the knife in his head.

“Hey,” you call softly to the youngest brother, and Randy lifts big, beautiful, sad brown eyes to meet yours.

You push off the counter and cross the kitchen to him. You can see he’s trying to smile, trying to meet your gaze. But he keeps looking away, the quirk of his lips faltering.

You touch him gently on the arm. “I’m sorry, lover,” you say softly.

“I… gotta take a leak,” Ben says quickly, and brushes past the pair of you.

Randy gulps, and only looks into your eyes when the bathroom door clicks shut.

You continue. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had’ve known. You do such a good job—”

Randy huffs through his nose, the ghost of a laugh. His plush, pink lips pout, and you pick up an infinitesimal quivering in his jaw.

“—what about—are you working tomorrow?”

“No,” he swallows again, “no the—I swapped my Saturday for Tuesdays when we—when you said you’d come over—come stay with us.”

You nod, and soothingly stroke your thumb back and forth over his forearm where you hold him. “What about tomorrow, we meet down here in the morning—”

Randy looks uncomfortable. “It’s Ben’s day,” he leans back a little, “I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t care about days. I care about you,” you cut him off quickly. “Who gives a shit whose day it is. I’ll tell the three of them, every morning you’ll make me a cup of tea and they can deal with it.”

You can see it in his eyes—he’s trying to hold back a smile. “You’d tell ‘em that?”

“I will,” you say confidently, not missing a beat.

His eyes squint a little. “But not when I’m working.”

“No, not then.”

“Ok,” Randy breathes on a sigh, nodding subtly. He looks a little more settled now, a little more content to have this commitment from you.

You squeeze his arm gently, and give him a warm, soft smile.

Randy swallows and says, “I didn’t give you a kiss ‘good morning’.”

Your smile broadens. “Not yet, loverboy.”

A small smile flickers over Randy’s features, before his face goes a little serious. “Duchess can you… could you, hold me?” He flicks his eyes to yours, sweet and soft and hopeful.

“Yeah?” you hold your arms out a little, trying to gauge if you’re reading him right.

Randy mirrors you somewhat. “Yeah, is that—?”

“Oh, come here.” You pull him into a hug, and Randy melts into you. You wrap your arms around his sides and settle your palms on his broad back: one hand running lightly up and down the slightly curved length of it and the other on his shoulder blade.

Randy curls into your embrace. His head rests on your shoulder and his thick arms wrap around your waist. His large, warm hands cradle you close and his thick fingers splay out over your back. He sighs deeply.

There’s a soft, warm, quiet moment, and you whisper, “I’m sorry. I appreciate you.” – and Randy holds you tighter.

You hear the distant sound of a cistern flushing, and Randy sighs and releases you.

He looks more at ease now, his natural colour returning. His eyes shine as he looks over your face. “You look very pretty this morning,” he murmurs. “Your hair looks nice.”

You smile, knowing he’s admiring your completely un-made-up face and hair that looks—accurately—like you’ve just woken up. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Randy takes a steadying breath, feeling surer of himself now. “Good morning duchess,” he says with a small smile, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek—just the way he’d wanted to do since the moment he woke up.

Ben strolls back into the kitchen. “Shit, Randy. You gotta bounce, buddy.”

Reluctantly, Randy draws his eyes from yours and checks the clock on the microwave. He sighs. He’s running a little behind.

“Those beans aren’t gonna roast themselves,” Ben chimes.

Randy smiles at you and reaches for an apple from the fruit bowl, before turning on his heel and heading back upstairs to finish getting dressed.

When his footsteps are out of earshot, Ben clears his throat to get your attention.

You turn to face him, and find him picking up where he left off with the half cut up banana.

“You gotta take care of him, baby,” Ben murmurs, and drops pieces of fruit into the blender before turning back to the laden chopping board. “Randy hasn’t found someone who…” he trails off. He glances up at you. “You’re special to him.”

You nod, putting the puzzle pieces together. These boys all see different things in you. Their wants and needs are distinctive and you—you have the honour of figuring that out.

As much as you’re giving to them, they’re giving it back fourfold to you.

“I know.”

Ben nods. “Be a doll and get me the peanut butter?”

Just like that—the subject is dealt with, and just in time, too.

Before you can finish asking Ben where on Earth you’d find the peanut butter in this mega kitchen, Kylo’s voice sounds from the archway.

“Little one,” he says, breathless with relief. “Come here.”

You and Ben glance up at the sudden intrusion. Ben rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, “Get it myself, then.”

“Hi, Daddy,” you reply to Kylo, trying to puzzle out what’s got him so bothered as you walk over to him.

He gulps and his brow is subtly creased as he looks you over quickly. “I looked for you in your room and you weren’t there.”

It looks like he’s been chewing his lips; they’re exceptionally red and full. “No. I was here,” you say, and it’s painfully obvious, but you feel like he needs to hear it.

“I can see that,” Kylo says, not missing a beat, as if he’s convincing himself that who he’s looking at is really you. You hadn’t made a run for it—like he’d feared. You’d slept here. You’d woken. You’d stayed.

His heart rate starts to slow to normal, the beating organ returning to its rightful place in his chest, rather than the pit of his gut where it had plummeted when he’d found your bed empty.

“I’d like,” he holds your shoulders, firm in his big hot hands, “I’d like for you to text me. Message me in the morning. When you wake up.”

You hesitate, and from behind you Ben says, “Come on, Kylo. Jesus—”

Kylo shoots a look so full of rage at Ben you almost recoil from him. “Daddy,” you bring your hands to rest on top of his on your shoulders, “hey. Hey, Daddy,” try to pull him back to you with soft words and gentle touches.

Kylo’s chest rises and falls. It takes him a moment to register you properly. His gaze flits over your face, a muscle under his eye twitching as he clenches his jaw. He gulps thickly, collecting himself, before his features soften.

All the while, you subtly squeeze his hands. When he looks like he’s seeing you again, you murmur tenderly, “I’m here.”

Kylo cradles both sides of your face, his deep brown eyes flicking between yours, and you say it again, softly, “I’m here, Daddy.”

Kylo’s eyes close for a moment, and he lets loose a deep exhale. He leans in and presses a kiss to the middle of your forehead.

Ben clears his throat dramatically, drawing the attention back to himself. “If you are done, your royal highness?” he addresses his brother, “might I deign to make my breakfast now?” Ben doesn’t wait for Kylo to answer, merely maintains blazing eye contact before he switches the blender on with a snarky flick of his finger.

Kylo glares at his brother, and runs his thumbs back and forth over your cheeks where he still holds you.

Ben rolls his eyes, pops a halved boiled egg into his mouth and starts cleaning up as he chews.

Kylo turns back to you, locking eyes. You murmur gently, “Hi,” and with your thumb you smooth over the crease in his forehead where his brow is furrowed. “You came back to me, Daddy.”

Kylo’s eyes fall gently closed at your touch, and open just as softly, like a cat.

“It’s Friday,” you say with a small, sweet smile.

Kylo leans to your ear, so you can hear him clearly over the noisy mechanical whirring of Ben’s smoothie being made. “Little one,” Kylo says, “have you eaten?”

**XXXX**

Kylo stands across from you on the other side of the kitchen island, sipping coffee from a big black mug as you finish your breakfast.

A little while ago, Randy had left for his morning shift at the coffee shop, and Ben had recently departed for his full day of uni. They’d kissed you on your cheek and your shoulder respectively—and as the number of his brothers in the house had dwindled, Kylo had gotten worse and worse at hiding his smugness.

There was one part of him that wished they’d stayed: a not-so-small side of him that wanted to see their faces when he gave you your present.

“Is it ok that you took today off, Daddy?”

Kylo hums. “I emailed the boss last night. He was happy about it, actually.” Kylo sets his mug down. “Said I had too much personal leave backed up anyway, and he,” he pauses, trails his gaze down to your lips and back to your eyes, “asked who the special girl was.”

You set your cutlery down and push your plate to the side, licking your lips. The beginnings of arousal kindle in your core and you murmur huskily, “and who would that be, Daddy?”

He looks deeply into your eyes. “I’d like to show you, little one.”

You bring your glass of orange juice, slowly, to your lips. “Who… me?” you murmur, and take a sip, looking up at Kylo over the rim of your glass.

Kylo’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Come here.”

You slide off the barstool noisily, making no further moves towards him. “But Daddy,” you lift your glass again, “I’m thirsty.” You gaze into his eyes as you take another leisurely sip from your juice.

Kylo tilts his head down and to the side, unimpressed. He’s finally, _finally_ , got you right where he wants you, and he will wait no more. “I won’t ask again.”

With the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, you don’t push Kylo any further. You keep your gaze locked with his as you walk around the bench and come to a slow stop before him. It’s a slow, delicate thing: like you’re the only two people left in the world, and time and space move differently around you—gooey and warm and still. Your voice comes out as a raspy whisper when you say, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Kylo reaches for you and runs the back of his index finger down the side of your neck. It’s a long, slow touch as he steps closer, almost pressing his body against yours.

“It’s ok, beautiful,” he murmurs. Kylo slips his hand around the back of your neck and strokes your nape delicately with the pads of three fingers. He leans closer, his lips hovering over yours as he breathes, “It’s ok.” Pressing his thumb under your jaw, Kylo subtly tilts your head back. “Daddy forgives you.”

Just as he softly presses his lips to yours—a door closes upstairs.

Kylo growls unhappily—deep, rumbling and frustrated in the back of his throat—but he doesn’t stop, even as footsteps trudge on the carpet up above.

Kylo uses his size and weight to turn and spin you, shuffling you until your back bites into the countertop as he presses himself onto your body.

He cups your face and kisses you deeply and forcefully, delving into your mouth as he crowds you with his big frame.

More footsteps on the stairs, and you uselessly try to lean away—but all Kylo wants is for you to moan into his mouth when his brother rounds the corner and steps into the kitchen.

He presses his body against you so you feel him, all of him, and Kylo tangles his thick fingers in your hair as he devours your mouth with his lips and tongue. You draw in a breath through your nose, and he knows you’re holding back.

He also knows Matt is three stair treads away from discovering you, so Kylo tilts your head back and hungrily chases your mouth, overwhelming you with his size and his hold and his kisses.

Your senses are lost to him; and three things happen in quick succession.

Unbeknownst to you, Matt rounds the corner into the kitchen, and stops in his tracks at the sight that greets him. You, totally wrapped up in Kylo and unaware of Matt’s presence, hum into Kylo’s mouth as he kisses you passionately. You grip his sides, all firm fleshy muscle beneath his black sleep tee.

And Kylo, filled to the brim with smug triumph, grunts and rolls his hips against your body.

Matt breathes a deep sigh through his nose, his chest rising and jaw tightening as his teeth bear down on each other. His eyes flit between Kylo’s face and yours as his cheeks heat up pinkish-red and a vein pulses in his neck.

Kylo cracks an eye open to see Matt standing in the doorway, fists clenched and eyes murderous. He returns his full attention to you, changing the angle of his mouth on yours and drawing another small moan from you as he strokes your tongue with his own.

He’s happy Matt’s here. Happy to make his brother look on as he makes out with you, making you moan and clutch his body as he fans your desire into a bright, pure flame. He’d make Matt watch, he’d make them all watch while he kissed you, took you, made you cum—if he could be certain that his brothers wouldn’t move and interfere.

Matt’s nostrils flare. The sound you made shot straight through him, and he’s in no mood to tolerate Kylo not playing fair. He’s shared you before and he’ll do it again—right fucking now if he has to. He’ll bend you over and bounce you on his cock so hard you’d be able to suck Kylo off at the same time—without even trying.

Matt trudges towards you, caged as you are between Kylo and the kitchen counter.

Kylo knows his brother is headed his way, so he breaks from your lips and presses kisses down your chin and along your jaw, licking and nipping at your skin.

Matt stops abruptly, his neck flushed a deep red as he watches your face: closed eyes, mouth open and panting as his brother kisses your jawline. He looks you over and says matter-of-factly, “I know there’s room for one more.”

“Shit!” You jump and push back from Kylo, startled by another voice in the room. “The fuck, Matt?” you pant, your heart racing as you take in the blond brother—his back subtly stooped and fists furled tight.

Kylo leans away from you, looking at his brother. “Oh, Matt,” he says, brushing his hair back from his face. “Shit, hi.”

Matt’s brow furrows and he glares at his brother. His gaze flicks between you and Kylo and you can practically see the cogs whirring in his head.

You swallow and try to fix this. “I—fuck, sorry. I didn’t know—we wouldn’t have—”

Matt slings you a withering look and it shuts you up immediately. He glances at Kylo, and for a tense moment the two are locked in a long, hard stare.

You look between the brothers. Neither of them move, and they don’t even look like they’re properly breathing. The air is so still and thick around them, it’s like they’ve forgotten you’re even there—until Matt finally breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“Fuck you,” he says to Kylo, before turning on his heel and heading for the fridge.

You look to Kylo, and there’s something tugging at his stoic expression. Something almost like… satisfaction.

You grip his wrist, and Kylo turns to you with—sure enough—a glint in his eye. He was pleased to be discovered, and he was happy to let Matt stew on it, too. The games these brothers play with each other are dangerous, and you would’ve thought Kylo, of all of them, wouldn’t put you in the middle of one like that. You can feel your brow knit together as you look at him, silently demanding some kind of explanation.

“Come on, beautiful,” Kylo says, taking your hand. “Matt’s upset. Let’s let him eat.”

Kylo leads you from the kitchen, murmuring about showing you around the house, and you look back over your shoulder at Matt.

The bespectacled blond sits at the kitchen counter alone, watching you walk away. You vaguely hear Kylo calling you ‘little one’, and at that, Matt dunks his spoon into his cereal and looks away from you.

He hadn’t even said hello.

**XXXX**

Just as he’d promised last night, Kylo takes you on an in-depth tour of the Solo house: thorough and meandering and sparing no detail.

“Let’s start with what you know,” he says, leading you in the direction of your bedroom and going further down the hall. “This is the newest part of the house, renovated about three years ago.”

Beyond your bedroom, the addition features another guest room (currently styled as a study), plus a small gym and rec space that leads outside, a full bathroom and a small kitchenette.

“The rest of the house is fairly traditional,” Kylo sniffs, looking around the space. Different things catch his eye, old things he’d forgotten about. He hasn’t been down here in a long time.

You can’t stop yourself from staring. “This has been here the whole time?” This _wing_ of the house is an entirely self-contained unit. “Do you rent this out, or?”

Kylo turns to you like he’s surprised to hear your voice. He smiles softly, coming back to himself and out of the past. “No.”

He gestures back towards the way you came, and once you’re up the stairs he walks you through the rest of the first floor. Somewhat familiar with the kitchen and living room, you’re not surprised to find a neatly-appointed dining room fitted with a fireplace, a large study with built-in library shelving, as well as a den and music space with a large blank piano. Tucked away is a sound-insulated entertainment room with large reclining armchairs, plus well-kept full bathroom, powder room, and laundry room.

“Who plays the piano?” you ask as Kylo unlocks a door at the back of the laundry space.

“That would be me, little one.” Kylo briefly glances back to you and smiles, before turning back to the door to undo a latch at the top of the doorjamb. “Randy too, but not as much.” He pushes the door open, revealing the gentle chirping of nearby birds. “Come here, beautiful.”

Through the laundry room is one of the exits to the back yard—and this _does_ surprise you. Kylo leads you outside, and a green expanse spreads out before you.

The yard at the back of the property stretches and slopes towards a dense tree-studded woodland, which serves as the rear boundary of the lot. Kylo leads you along a brick-paver path, and the grass looks so lush, soft and healthy. The yard features an enclosed alfresco dining space with yet another fireplace, a barbeque, and a pizza oven.

Adjacent to the indoor-outdoor space is a raised gazebo, and flowering clematis climbs up the trellis half-walls. When you see what’s inside it, you gasp.

“You have a hot tub!?”

Kylo lets his lips curl into a small smile. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”

“I didn’t know this was here!” You look from him to the spa and back again, amazed that all of this has just been sitting here, waiting for you to come and find it.

Kylo leans down to your ear and murmurs, “Don’t let Daddy catch you skinny dipping.”

Further down the slope, a low-lying privacy wall of green shrubs and flowering bushes curves around the far edge of a large, voluptuously-shaped swimming pool. The water sparkles and twinkles a crisp, cool, turquoise blue in the mid-morning light. At one end of it, there sits a natural stone water feature—bubbling away with tranquillity—and at the other end, a decently sized modern-looking pool house.

“Can we go in?” You look hopefully at Kylo.

He smirks a lazy little half-smile. “Maybe later, little one. I have one more thing I want you to see.”

Kylo leads you inside via the back deck, into a foyer that almost mirrors the one at the front of the house. “Come upstairs with me,” Kylo says at the foot of the stairs, reaching an arm out for you to take his hand.

Butterflies whirl in your stomach as you slip your palm into his. Not only are all the boys’ bedrooms up here, but you and Kylo had been threatening to dance this inevitable dance the second he got home from work last night.

Now, the moment has finally come.

On the second floor landing, Kylo points out the main features. The master bedroom and ensuite are on one side. “We usually set guests up there,” he says.

The master suite is separated from the other four bedrooms by a versatile flex space, which is currently used as another entertainment area with a TV, couch, two armchairs, and very soft looking rug. Kylo leads you down the hall and points out his brothers’ bedrooms: all generously-sized and joined in pairs by Jack-and-Jill bathrooms.

“I share with Matt,” Kylo says, jerking his thumb in the direction of the blond’s bedroom as you stride past. His door is completely shut.

“So, Ben and Randy share?” You look across and see Ben’s door haphazardly open, a small pile of clothes and a single sneaker preventing it from closing. Randy’s door is open, and of the brief peek you get inside, the floor looks perfectly clean, and a bookcase is neatly stacked on the far wall.

“It’s a biohazard on Sundays,” Kylo mutters, stopping in front of his closed bedroom door. “I’d steer clear, if you can. Til Randy does the laundry.”

You smile. “After hockey?”

Kylo nods wearily. “But forget about them,” he says, flicking away some hair that had fallen into his face. He grasps the door handle and murmurs, “Are you ready to see Daddy’s room, little one?”

You smile your sweetest, batting your lashes up at him. “Yes, Daddy. Please show it to me?”

One side of his mouth tugs upward. “Good girl,” Kylo says, and opens his bedroom door. “Inside, beautiful.”

You step inside, and the first thing you notice is how soft the lighting is in the sleek, grey room.

Twin bedside tables house modern lamps with frosted nebulous shades, either side of a large and imposing bed set inside a four-sided upholstered frame. Plentiful pillows crowd the headboard, and above it, a pair of stunning black and white framed photographs of hemlock trees in winter take up the rest of the wall. Beautiful—but despite or because of the bare branches, you can’t yet tell.

On the far side of the room an extensive walk-in closet takes up the whole wall, with glass doors and built-in, hidden LED lighting for each of the shelves. Nearer to you is Kylo’s drafting table, which faces a large window overlooking the front of the property, as well as floating shelves that contain artfully styled clumps of books and an assortment of contemporary sculptures.

Some of them look to be awards.

“That’s the end of the tour,” Kylo says softly. He closes the door with a click, and the little metallic sound rings out loudly in the hushed space. It sparks a change, a transition in the atoms and molecules that spin around you and comprise your bodies. The air is thicker, denser, hotter; and time moves slower, more lethargically as a heavy new atmosphere settles over the room.

You turn to face him. “They’re pretty pictures, Daddy,” you say, unable to look away from his eyes or even lift a finger to point at the photographs. “Did you take them?”

“No,” Kylo shakes his head, slowly walking towards you. “I’m merely,” he trails the back of his finger down your cheek, “a collector of pretty things.”

You turn your head just in time to catch his finger against your mouth, and you press your lips to his digit in a slow, soft, chaste kiss.

Kylo’s deep brown eyes glimmer. “You’ll sleep here tonight, beautiful.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He trails a finger along your jaw. “In Daddy’s bed.”

“Ye—Thank you, Daddy.”

Kylo subtly cocks his head to the side, admiring you. All of this is still so new, but he already feels like he won’t be able to wait a week to see you again. You’ve slipped seamlessly into his life and you’re already so much a part of his world… he doesn’t know how he’ll see you off on Tuesday morning. He doesn’t know how he, or even any of his brothers will stand it.

But here, today, after waiting all this time, Kylo needs you now. He must have you again. He smiles at you with his eyes and says, “I think you’re ready for your present now.”

You beam at him, and its so warm and clear Kylo thinks he might faint. Before you can say anything he speaks again. “Get on your knees, little one—and face my bed.”

A thrill flutters through your belly and you do as he says, turning away from him and sinking to your knees in front of his bed. You sit back on your haunches and say, “Like this, Daddy?”

Kylo hums. “Close your eyes.”

You hear him shuffle around next to you; a sound like one of the drawers in his bedside table sliding open and closed. Then, you feel his presence as he takes a seat in front of you, on the bed.

Kylo’s fingers skim your neck as he gently moves your hair back, and then something soft, but then, cold—is it metallic?—grazes your skin. He loops the thing around your neck and fastens it at your nape—deft despite the thick length of his digits.

“Can you swallow? Talk?” he asks.

With your eyes closed you test it, gulping and answering him in the affirmative.

Kylo’s never seen anything like you. “Beautiful,” he murmurs softly as his gaze flits over your face and neck. Your closed eyes amplify the serenity in your features, and he’s surprised by how peaceful you look with his collar hanging around your neck. So at ease. So full of trust.

You wear it so naturally, his heart could burst.

You hum a small giggle into the still silence. “What’s wrong, Daddy? You’re all quiet.”

Kylo swallows. “Little one,” he murmurs, but his voice is thick and hoarse, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Hold out your tongue.”

A small smile flits across your features before you open your mouth a little way and push your tongue out, resting it on your bottom lip.

Kylo’s heart seizes in his chest. “God, you’re perfect,” he mutters as he swoops in and cups your face in his big warm hands, licking over your tongue and your lower lip before pressing his mouth to yours in a potent kiss.

You match him eagerly, letting him into your mouth and chasing every touch of his lips and tongue with a small whimper.

Kylo changes the slant of his mouth on yours and you rise up on your knees to get closer to him—but he holds you firm and grunts, pulling from your lips.

You stay still.

“Open your eyes, little one,” Kylo says, his breath coming hard.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open to find him gazing at you, all dark swirling desire. His full lips are flushed a deeper shade of rose petal pink, and he licks at them to taste the remnants of you.

Impulsively, Kylo sits back and fishes his phone from the pocket of his pj shorts. He taps a few buttons and turns it to face you, and you see yourself in his front-facing camera.

You see _it_ , hanging around your neck. A choker, of sorts. Blushing pink velvet, a shade or two lighter than the curtains in your bedroom. A small charm sits in the centre of it, over your throat, and from it hangs a chunky, silver, heart-shaped pendant.

It’s engraved.

Kylo watches you intently. “What does that say, little one?” he gestures to your neck.

You swallow, recovering the ability to speak. You shuffle a little closer to his phone and tilt your head up, getting a better view of the engraving. Four small letters spell his name in elegant, sweeping cursive.

Your voice is but a breath when you answer him. “’Kylo’.”

“Who’s that?” he whispers.

You look from his phone to his eyes. “My Daddy.”

A burst of euphoria erupts in Kylo’s brain, and heat blooms in his chest and deep in his core. He feels lifted, warm, and weightless. “Good girl,” he murmurs, tossing his phone away somewhere on the bed. “Come to Daddy, beautiful.”

You spring from the floor into Kylo’s lap, straddling his hips hurriedly. He catches your lips in hot, breathy kisses as he tugs your sleep tee up over your head, and he cups your stiffening breasts in his hands.

His palms are so warm, and he holds you so completely. The weight of your whole body rests easily on his thighs as you surrender to the heat of arousal trickling through your veins, and join his mouth in needy kisses.

Kylo’s lips press to the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, and down the side of your neck. “You’ll wear this,” he says between kisses, “on my days. When you’re with me,” he pants into your ear for a few breaths, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan on a breathy sigh, and Kylo groans as he crushes his lips to yours once more.

You tug and pull at his shirt, hastily tearing it off his body as your kisses turn fierce; starved for the feel of his lips, the heat of his tongue, the taste of his mouth. His body is as solid and sturdy as you remember from that first night, as strong as marble but soft and warm under your fingers.

Kylo squeezes and massages your bare breasts as he kisses down your neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds firmly to your back, and before you realise it he’s lifting you up, turning you both around and tossing you down onto his bed.

“Daddy,” you gasp—but Kylo’s already shucking off his sleep shorts and pulling at the hem of yours.

Of all his muscular, naked form, your gaze is drawn to one spot: to the long, thick prize between his legs, red and swollen and vascular with need.

Kylo sees your parted lips and blatant stare, and his heart swells with pride. He knows what he’s working with—his previous lovers had been more than complimentary—but something about seeing that look on your face is just…

It feels different to him, somehow. For some inexplicable reason.

“It’s been too long, little one,” Kylo says as he tosses your pyjamas to the side and crawls up the bed to you. “And I meant what I said last night,” he slides up your body and catches your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips so his hard cock glides against your slit. “Daddy missed his little girl.”

He’s so warm and heavy above you, with his thick dark hair falling into his face. “I missed you too, Daddy,” you murmur, starting to rock your hips to grant you both some friction. “But you can have me now.”

Kylo hums and kisses you again, taking every opportunity he can get. It was so chaotic that first night, and even though he fucked you deep and you swallowed his cum, it agonises him that he missed out on licking your lips and sucking your tongue.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Kylo leans above you on one arm and with his other hand, trails down your chest to cup your breast and run his thumb over your nipple.

You arch into his touch and he pinches the hard bud between his thumb and forefinger, rolling until your hips buck upwards urgently.

You break the kiss to sigh, “Daddy,” and reach down to wrap your hand around his hot, heavy cock – but Kylo stops you.

He grabs your wrist and puts your hand into his hair, slinking down your body until his mouth hovers over your other, so far unattended nipple. His palm trails down your belly and dips between your thighs, his fingers lightly teasing your fast-slickening folds.

“Did you think about me after the party?” Kylo murmurs onto your breast before he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

You rock and arch against Kylo’s body, your fingers furling in his soft, thick locks. Kylo licks over your nipple with long, slow, wet drags of his tongue and you moan loudly—before you remember you’re not alone in the house and shut yourself up.

Kylo pulls off your nipple. “Daddy thought about _you_ , little one.” He kisses across your sternum to your other breast, his fingers still only toying with your pussy lips. “A couple times a night, sometimes.” He points his tongue and flicks over your other nipple quickly, eyeing how you suck in a sharp breath and arch your back. His pendant on your neck glints prettily. “And I don’t care if he hears you,” Kylo rumbles onto your skin before wrapping his lips around your nipple and dipping two fat fingers into your pussy.

“But Mat—ohh, _Daddy_ ,” you moan, both your hands now fisting in his hair. Every lick of his tongue over your nipple and drag of his fingers against your silky walls strikes pleasure in each of your nerves—too many to count. Beyond eager, you think of the last time you had his cock inside you and your pussy clenches at the memory.

“Mmh,” Kylo slips off your nipple, “shit. Still so tight.”

You can’t stop the whimper in your throat.

“So wet for Daddy, too,” he murmurs. You’re even hotter and slicker than he remembers, his late-night recollections no substitute for having the real thing pulsing and clenching all over his bare hand.

“Daddy, please,” you whine.

Kylo slows the push-pull of his thick fingers, giving you slow strokes of the full length of his digits. There’s a small slick sound as he pushes in, and your lips and walls cling desperately to the friction. He returns to your face, his gaze flitting over your pleasure-struck features as he fingers you.

“You want my cock, beautiful?”

You nod frantically, and Kylo’s eyes narrow for a second. He shimmies down your body as he fills you full of his fingers, and when he’s in the right spot, he sucks hard on your clit.

“Yes, Daddy!” you keen—but Kylo merely licks from his fingers to your clit with big wet sweeps of his tongue.

You still haven’t given him the answer he wants, and you thrash against his bed. You scrunch his bed cover in your fists as Kylo hums and grunts onto your pussy, his hot breath amplifying every touch. “Please,” you moan, not caring how your voice sounds, “I want your cock, Daddy. Please.”

Kylo sinks his fingers into your pussy and wraps his lips around your clit, humming all of his approval onto the stiff bud.

You whimper shrilly, hips bucking, and he pulls away.

“Good girl,” Kylo purrs appreciatively, sitting up on his haunches. “Fuck, you taste good.” He grabs your thighs and pulls you into the position he wants, with your legs over his and him directly between them. Kylo reaches forward and holds himself up on one straight, locked arm, and guides his cock to your slick opening like he’d imagined doing so many times since that first night.

But he can’t resist slicking the underside of his dick in your silky wetness, can’t help himself from parting your lips with the head and gliding upwards until his slit brushes against your clit.

You plead with him. The wet looseness in your core turns to an aching, hollow emptiness now that he’s so close to being inside you but stubbornly refusing entry. Every cell in your body sings for him and you beg, you reach out for him with outstretched arms. “Daddy,” you pray, “I waited too long, too.”

That snaps Kylo’s attention back to your face. He gulps, gazing into your eyes. “Hnmh,” he hums, “c’m’ere, little girl,” – and then bores down on you with desperate, ravenous kisses. He hums into your mouth as he grips his swollen dick and presses it to your opening, groaning when the petals of your cunt yield and let him slip inside on the dew of your desire.

He stutters your name out through a deep, rasping groan that he breathes all over your lips.

You gasp, wrapping your legs around his sides and carding your fingers in his hair like he likes.

Kylo draws his hips back and plunges his throbbing cock inside your pussy again, thick and wide and making room for himself inside your tight walls. You lift your hips to meet him and he grunts against your skin, immediately seeking the solace offered by the slope of your neck, his nose and cheek brushing against the velvet collar that bears his name.

“God,” he huffs, his voice tight and strained already. “Daddy missed your cunt, little one.”

You moan—you too missed reaching the spots he knew how to get at and like this, with just the two of you sharing the same hot air, your bodies vibrate with the same tempestuous resonance, the same pulsing thrum as he pistons his hips into yours.

“Shit,” Kylo grunts, “ffuck—this wet little pussy’s so good.”

He bounces you a little ways up the bed with every long, deep thrust; his meaty ass cheeks flexing as he pushes into you with everything he has, all that he is, giving it to you like it’s the first and last time.

“Daddy,” you groan, a deep rich sound of pleasure as your chest and neck heats up and the liquid warmth of pleasure pools in your core. The head of his cock pushes into hidden depths, the rigid shaft ridged with veins that stroke against so many nerves.

“Fuck, yeah,” Kylo pants, “you take Daddy’s dick so well, little one.” He slides one of his legs a little higher, to better hit deep inside you. “Sso ffucking…” he trails off, a primal part of his brain taking over. As he tries to tell you how wet and tight and hot you are on the inside, his hips move faster, he thrusts into you harder, and he _groans_ over the soft slaps of your bodies against each other.

Sighs and whimpers tumble from your lips as the sensation builds—the tightening heat of pleasure bubbling over—and you clutch his shoulders for support, stability, sanity.

Kylo leans back to look you in the face, resting on his knees and his palms as his hips roll on a piston.

“Eyes open,” he puffs. “Eyes open, beautiful. Look at me.”

You blink your lids open, and the sight of Kylo above you, panting and puffing and red in the face, sends you squeezing and clenching around his dick.

“Hhuh, good girl,” he looks deeply into your orbs, demanding your gaze. “Look at Daddy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, your lids fluttering as you strive to keep your eyes trained on his. Your mouth drops open and Kylo can hardly bear it: his stomach flips and clenches, and he feels the squeezing tug in the pit of his gut that tells him his release is fast approaching.

Kylo wraps his arms underneath you and, stilling his hips, holds you close and flips you over. Mere seconds are spent adjusting to the new angle—but no time is wasted. Kylo cinches one arm around your waist and with his other hand, he holds the back of your neck.

He drills up into you, and you scream.

“Daddy!” Your cry is shrill and guttural, a sound of otherworldly pleasure ripped from your throat for all the house to bear witness to.

Kylo grunts with exertion as he holds you close to his body. He knows this angle hits your g-spot and rubs your clit against his mons—which is exactly how he wants to make you cum.

You wail and moan, your thighs starting to tremble around his hips. Kylo’s pendant hangs from your neck and knocks into the base of your throat with every one of his thrusts.

It’s too hot. Your bodies smack together with sticky slapping pops and soon, the only sounds falling from your mouths are guttural grunts and groans.

Kylo feels your legs shaking, feels your cunt slicken and seize on his cock. He knows you’re close, about to snap. “Cum on my dick,” he pants. “Cum on Daddy’s dick, little one— _ughh, God_.” His balls are twitching, tightening. “Do it now.”

He holds you firmly in place—you know he’s got you—rubbing against you inside and out in a way that blows your mind. Now, with his sanction, it’s like a dam bursting, a volcano erupting, an inferno blazing to new heights.

“Come on, come on,” he chants through gritted teeth, pushing his own limits to pound up into you even harder, sloppier, noisier. “Cum now, beautiful,” his voice is taut, “cum for Daddy.”

You break, cumming all over his dick with a loud, drawn-out cry of pleasure. Your orgasm floods you with warmth from your core to your fingers and toes, and the pulsing clenching squeeze of it sends Kylo into his own delirious spiral of bliss. He cums in waves, groaning, muscles contracting as he dumps surge after surge of hot cum deep inside you.

Even when you’re both finally panting, sticky, and sweaty, Kylo still can’t bring himself to let go of you—or, slip out from where he’s nestled within you. You rest on top of him, cradled in his arms, listening to the gradual steadying of his heart.

But you’re so still and quiet, Kylo thinks you might’ve fallen asleep.

“Little one?” he whispers. “Beautiful?” He’d let you rest, if you needed it. But this is no ‘one and done’ thing. He’ll have you, he’ll take you, again and again until you _do_ pass out on top of him.

“Mmmh,” you hum, in a dreamy daze.

Kylo murmurs softly, “Are you sleepy? Hungry?”

“Nnnh.”

He smiles, and strokes down your back with four fingers. “Good,” he says. “We’re not leaving here til dinner.”


End file.
